Crossing Ways
by Reaya
Summary: The Gods have seemingly abandoned Tortall: The Royal family are dying one by one until only Roger remains. Thom is brewing revenge and Alanna has reentered the scene fresh from the convent. How long can this tirade continue? Obviously a convent AU.
1. Stepping Stones

**Crossing Ways**_  
by Reaya_

Chapter One: Stepping Stones

* * *

_Each sorrow is a stepping stone  
you must surmount each day,  
And every stepping stone you climb  
is a sorrow that's passed away._

_- Stepping Stones, by Debra L. Stitt_

If this were half a decade ago, then maybe. If she still had the willpower and dream to do so, then maybe. But while she might still have the will, she knew her dream was much too...much too..._dreamy_ to come true. But she had gotten over it already. Sort of.

With a small sigh, Alanna turned away from staring out the window and forced her scattered thoughts to return to the paper. What kind of poem _would_ she like? The convent sisters had told her to think everything out before going; and while ecstatic at the thought of leaving this Godforsaken place—excuse the irony in using the expression—her fell right back down at the preparation.

Grace, elegance, courtly behavior—they had all been drummed into her head during the long five years she stayed here. Yet nothing, absolutely nothing, could pull her out of the dream state in which she did things. Some of the Sisters found this amusing, other frowned upon it in distaste, and a select few even admired her for it. For Alanna was always wrapped up in dreams. From the outrageous ones that had left her mouth the moment Maude had gone to the silent ones of today. Legends. Fairytales. She had soaked them all up. Could she be in one? Not likely.

Again, she pulled away from her thoughts, brow folded in concentration as she penned the poem. But at the end, it was still a fanciful story, linked together by rhyming stanzas. The fops at court might like it; the sisters probably wouldn't. But whatever; she'd hand it in anyway.

Footsteps approached, and she stood up quickly, brushing the crushed velvet of her gown free of imaginary dust. The Head Sister rapped on the door in the way only she did. Carefully, Alanna opened the door, head inclined as taught. She only raised it in time to catch the remnants of a small smile on the nun's lips. "Sister," she murmured quietly.

The nun nodded at the girl, whose brilliant copper tresses appeared unkempt. Yet the look suited her; the curls falling down her backside, hugging her small waist. "Lady Alanna," she chided softly. "You are not ready yet."

"Yes, Sister," she replied obediently. "But I would like some help, if you please."

The older woman smiled. "Of course. I will tell Rosemary to come help you." Dropping her voice even more, she said, "My dear, you're father will be so proud of you." Cupping her hand around the noble's small face, she kissed her forehead. "I give you my blessing from the bottom of my heart, Lady, and I do sincerely speak for your family, also."

Alanna returned it with a small smile. "Yes," she replied just as softly. "My family can go eat dirt." Her voice never changed in tone or volume; and she said it with total serenity. The Head Sister only shook her head and left, an amused expression her on face.

She looked on at the open hallway even after her visitor had left. "Yes," she agreed to herself again. "Thom is probably eating dirt; father's just breathing dust." Then, in a daze again, she floated off to the mirror, waiting for Rosemary. She would never dream of dressing herself; to think, the horror of it! A noble lady, whose lineage stretched back to the Book of Gold, donning her own skirts—decorating her own hair? Preposterous.

Her eyes lifted to regard the girl staring back at her over the polished surface. Red curls framing a small face, violet drops tingeing the pupils, small cheekbones set in porcelain skin. _I need to get out more, _she mused. Once again, she moved; this time to the windowsill.

Unclasping the lock, she opened the shutters and leaned out, head resting on hand. Her window looked over the walls of the convent, letting her glimpse the outside world. She caught sight of a familiar stable boy. "Roby!" She called lightly, knowing the wind would carry it down. The boy looked up a smiled. She blew him a kiss and motioned for him to climb the wall.

Quick to please, the slightly simple-minded, but loyal little boy did as she bid. "Roby," she repeated. "Have you seen Liam about?" The boy nodded eagerly. "Good. Can you get him? Tell him I need to talk to him quickly. Here," she reached into the folds of her gown and pulled out a copper, putting it in the boy's outreached hands. "Spend it wisely," she reprimanded gently. Roby nodded again and scrambled off.

"Lady Alanna?" A young nun entered the room, looking around aglow at the open doors and the untouched surfaces. The lady was famed to be in a daze at all times, but she never expected a room witch looked half untouched in all the year's she'd been here.

"Yes?" The lady was at the window when she turned around. Though almost three years older than the novice, the Lady was half a head shorter. Rosemary shrugged to herself. She _was_ taller than most girls her age anyway. This lady was just probably very short. She watched as the Lady's smile slowly faded. "You must be Rosemary," she acknowledged, her tone no longer holding the happy greeting it did at her reply. Did she say or do something wrong to cause this reaction?

Rosemary stared at the floor. "Yes, lady. The Sister informed me that I would be helping with your last preparations."

Alanna tilted her head to the side. The girl seemed so gloomy all of a sudden. "It's nothing you did," she amended.

The young nun was confused. "Nothing I did?"

She nodded. "It's just the thought of leaving," she clarified.

"Oh." The girl walked in and took the comb from the table as Alanna took a seat. Gingerly, the girl brushed away the tangles; amazed at the exotic coloring of her current mistress. Still, she fidgeted in the silence; she was used to talking with fellow novices her own age, and this was her first time attending one of the ladies. Usually, young girls here were paired to take care of a noble girl at her entrance, but for some reason or the other, Lady Alanna never had a consistent one. She wondered why.

She returned to the previous topic. "Lady Alanna?" she put forth meekly.

"Hmm?"

"When you said about the thought of leaving...do you want to stay on?" Rosemary was itching for conversation; she didn't care anymore if you really weren't supposed to talk. And with the gossip floating around—especially in a place of total female residence—there was a lot of it. In this case, gossip had gotten around that Lady Alanna didn't care much for traditional rules; unless they had been specially pressed upon her.

The young woman laughed. It wasn't a real laugh; no, it had a distinct sardonic undertone to it. And it didn't sound like bells either, the way Clia told her Noble ladies' laughs were supposed to sound. But Rosemary liked it; it made her vision of the class much more human and less out of reach. "Stay on? I wouldn't dream of it. But go to the palace?" She gave a small shiver. "That place brings bad thoughts."

"Bad thoughts?" She paused in her surprise. "Have you gone there before?"

She shook her head. "No; never in my entire life. My father never even informed the King that we had been born, actually. But that place just smothers everything..."

Rosemary, thrilled at her reaction, so contrary to the other lady she had dared interrogate a few years ago—the Lady Delia, was it?—that she had to hear more, interesting or not. And her reaction was so different, so genuine. "But, my lady, how can it smother everything if you haven't been there?"

She shrugged. "You must have heard the gossip about my arrival here," she paused to wait the answer. Upon the girl's confirming nod in the mirror, she continued. "Well, they smother all the heart I put behind those."

The girl's eyes widened visibly. "You actually sought to become a knight?"

A small smile tugged at the corner of the lady's lips, but she never did really show it. "Maybe." Rosemary took it as a sign to stop the questions, and instead set to work on giving style to the hair, twisting it into masses of copper braids.

Just as she began on the last one, a small rock flew in the window, landing with a clatter on the stone floor. The lady pulled out of her chair and moved quickly to the window. "Liam!" she called. Rosemary frowned. Was she really seeing men? The lady turned to her. "Don't tell anyone, please?"

Lost in questions, the girl nodded. She looked up again just in time to see her, in a swirl of braids and crushed velvet, disappear out the window. Did she jump? The girl rushed to window, staring down in shock, and then relief when she saw that a man standing on the wall had helped her lady down. He pointed her out to her and she waved, putting finger to lips again to remind her. Rosemary nodded and disappeared inside again.

"Who was that?" Liam asked Alanna once they where both seated under a crab apple tree, out of all view from the windows of the convent.

"Rosemary," was all he got in the way of an answer. "Don't worry, though," she assured him. "She won't tell." The Shang Dragon looked at her, skeptic. He was clearly unsure whether or not to believe her. "It's not like she thinks we're seeing each other in secret for some stolen kisses, right?"

Liam looked away. Alanna would say the most damnable things without regard if let be. "And what if she thought exactly that?" he asked, frowning.

"Then she still wouldn't tell."

He sighed. "Okay. But what was it you wanted to tell me?"

Alanna lifted her head up and stared at the overhanging braches of the withered tree. "I'm not sure..." He let her be in her dream state for a while, knowing that she was deep in thought as the brilliant hue of her eyes glazed over and faded slightly. She would talk in her own time.

Turning his attentions elsewhere, he began dissecting a piece of grass. So caught up in his work was he, that Alanna's sudden answer got him in surprise. "I want to kill someone." It unnerved him like nothing else. She said it in total seriousness, yet her voice had no anger or any emotion other than a taste of curiosity.

"What?" He jerked around to face her. Seeing the wry grin on her face he shook it head. "You can't do that without learning to actually hold the weapon properly," he teased.

"I can too hold the sword! I just can't swing it properly, that's all," she defended. She kicked his shin lightly. "And Sir Dragon here won't teach me."

The Shang Dragon laughed. "Oh, but I did teach you. You just didn't have time to practice or the strength to keep at it." Then, as an afterthought added, "Or the brains to learn, for that matter." He was pelted by flood of rotten apples.

"You just didn't have the talent to teach," she threw back.

He knew better than to throw apples back at her; her dress was ruined too much as it is. The common birth of the Shang legend didn't make him any more comfortable with Nobles. Especially noble women with magic. So he decided to change the topic. "You know what I think of every time I see you?"

"How in the world you managed to get yourself caught up in helping a crazy girl sneak out of the convent and teach her a few sword tricks?" she jeered.

He thought about it for a bit. "Yeah, sort of. What I really remember is you in those stolen overlarge breeches and tunic riding on the stolen pony, charging down at the group of bandits."

Alanna's eyes narrowed, knowing fully well what he was going to recite. "Hey," she protested. "You had yourself stuck between a rock and a hard place."

Liam chuckled. "Maybe I wanted to be there," he countered. "But it still makes me laugh; your hair a mess behind you and in your face as you ran down that one idiot with a pitchfork. Not exactly the most gallant weapon, you know."

"I improvised," she replied defensively. "It was that or a horse whip."

"I would have chosen the horse whip. But to each their own I guess." Then he snickered. "And it all ends with the girl playing hero being the damsel in distress."

"Shut up." Another apple rushed past his head. "You've just ruined all the years I've deluded myself into thinking that _I_ saved _you_." She sighed. "At least I know I distracted them so you could beat them up."

"Actually—" A hand covered his mouth.

"Don't ruin my memories any further." She moved away slowly, flinging another apple. "I'm leaving tomorrow, so I want only heroic memories."

The Dragon snorted, but complied. In the years he had known her through scattered visits, he had begun to look to the girl as a daughter. "Okay, I'll let leave with your little dreams running around you head." Then he paused. "What do you mean you're leaving tomorrow?!"

"Exactly what I said: I'm being sent to the palace." She leaned forward and pecked his cheek quickly. "Visit, kay?" With that, she lifted her skirts and ran back to her window.

The ride to the Capital was tedious and uncomfortable. No one talked; no one gossiped. Just the way Alanna liked it. However, even the most dream-crazed female needs a breather at some point; and there was none in the week it was taking. But neither would she do anything further than thinking about riding with the guards—she didn't want people looking at her as if she were some poor mongrel who lost her mind, like the first year of the convent

But at the moment on the day Alanna really was ready to blow, they entered the gates of Corus. The early morning light put the crowded city in new perspective. Venders went about setting up their booths, children ran underneath the men and women, oblivious to all but their games. And behind it all towered the Royal Palace, where she would make residence for the next few years. The palace which she should have stayed in for the past five years and the next three.

The place where Thom was.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Miss me? It's been what—a year? I'm horrible, I admit. So here's the first chapter (the revised prologue, if you'll notice). I found the old one much too cliché for my current tastes. My writing style also change, so that's a good thing. Um...since it's summer I'll be able to update more. Now, you want to hear the tragedy that happened to me a bit ago? No? I'll tell you anyway: All my files got erased. And since I no longer have any copies of the old 'Prince's Lady', I decided to settle down and write this. So go thank my dad for busting all my files for this chapter. And yes, they're all going to be this long, or longer. I think... 


	2. Prelusion

**Crossing Ways**_  
by Reaya_

Chapter Two: Prelusion

* * *

_Dreams that the soul of youth engage  
Ere Fancy has been quelled;  
Old legends of the monkish page,  
Traditions of the saint and sage,  
Tales that have the rime of age,  
And chronicles of Eld.  
_

_-Prelude by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow _

Thom was sulking again.

But since when didn't he sulk? So after the afternoon practices, Thom went to his little crab apple tree in the garden. The one in the very back; the one that the gardeners had wanted to cut down but couldn't. Thom had a hand in that. But that was beside the point now.

For four long years he had been a Page, slaving at the Training masters in the afternoons, soaking in knowledge from the orange-robed Mithran Priests during the morning. Then the pattern had changed upon the so-called 'promotion.' All the other pages had been chosen by friends or better knight masters when they were elevated to the status of Squire. But just as in everything else, no one had chosen him.

Years of always being the worst at this knight business had made him immune to their little tirades and the jeering. He really didn't care that he hadn't been chosen. In fact, he was almost hopeful that no one would choose him and he would be shipped home. But no, they wouldn't even allow him that.

Myles, a desk knight, as he was known as, had taken him under wing. The old drunkard had most likely done so out of pity, and for that Thom reviled him. Not that he didn't revile him before that, but that too branched off quite a ways. So now sitting against the twisting branches in the upper reaches of the tree, he chose a green apple and bit into it.

Sour. He spat that first bite out. It was sour, just like him. Still, he continued eating. The taste was something he had gotten used to after a while. While the biting taste didn't completely grow on you so that you liked it more each time like it was with some things, it did give fruit to a different kind of flavor. He knew because he tasted it every time his pride was so carefully trodden upon and his face smashed into the dirt. But each time it happened, something else grew inside of him. That something he coveted and nursed, letting it grow. He knew that one it could overcome him. And with the help of it on his side, he would no doubted get the revenge he wanted.

For now, though, he savored the apple. After a while his thoughts drifted and he found himself wondering what his sister was up to. He had written to Alanna a few times over the years, but there was not much truth in them. Alanna had written back, and it was easy to tell that her words too, were part lies. She was sixteen now, crossing the age when the nobility were deemed ready to court. Would she be coming soon?

Something stirred in him and throwing the rest of the apple to the ground, Thom began his climb down. He was wasting precious time loitering around old trees when he could have snuck in a bit more of magic practice in the old libraries. Jumping off the last few feet of the climb, he landed on an apple and lost his balance, falling sprawling on the grass. As his luck would have it, a group of young boys came around the bend just then.

He pushed himself to a kneeling position as the first of them spotted him and pointed the squire out to the rest of his friends. Laughter drifted over, touching his ears on a small breeze. _Here we go again._ He braced himself for another round of embarrassment.

"So if it isn't Lord Trebond dining in the dirt," the largest of them taunted. Malvon. He was one of the older lot, though his own year-mates preferred to disassociate themselves with him, even on his last year under the palace servitude. In some ways, he was a bit like Thom. On the other hand, he was also a bully and ringleader to the want-to-be pages.

They laughed again. "Here, let me help you up," he continued and held out a hand. Thom knew better though. Once upon a time he might have taken that hand, but he was older and wiser now. He knew that if he reached to take it, he would be accepting an invitation for them to push him right back down.

"No thanks," he replied evenly. "I can get up by myself, thank you very much." He hadn't had a run-in with this group for a while; at least not since he'd become Myles' squire. He couldn't help one last jibe. It was no fun with Mylesâ€"such talk didn't make it past his overgrown beard. Thom let out a drawn-out sigh. "But Malvon, why the change of heart? Don't tell me--"

Before he could finish, a punch delivered to his stomach forced all the breath he had out his lungs and sent him flailing into the dirt once more. Thom didn't bother trying to get up right away. Instead, he gave an internal sigh. It seemed that Malvon had grown some more brains over their break and was now wise enough to shut the smart mouthing up before it started. But whatever wisdom the blurry Squire had grown, it was not enough to keep him from his usual round of gloating over the fallen Trebond.

"What's wrong? Did I hit too hard? Oops, I didn't mean to."

Thom rolled his eyes as he flipped himself over onto his stomach. Malvon hadn't grown any wit either. Well, he had gotten some breath back now, so he told the boy as much. It didn't take very long for him to take another visit with the ground. His clothes were ruined, that was for sure.

Then it burst. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he felt the carefully nurtured feelings surface. With cold deliberation, he pushed himself to his feet again, and fixated the taller boy with icy violet eyes.

Malvon readied his fist again and instead found himself taking an untended step back. "Hey Trebond," he muttered in attempted drawl. "What's wrong with your eyes? They look like rabid boar I fought last" his boast was cut short by a sudden force of energy pushing the ground out from under him.

* * *

Roger was in a foul temper the morning before the ball. For one thing, it was freezing outside. He was never one to hate the cold, but this morning the most minute thing out of place only served to fuse his already mounting fury. The chess piece cracked from the pressure of his pressing palm. The sound of it jarred him from his far-off thoughts enough to crack a smile on marble lips. 

The piece was a queen.

How ironic, especially since Her Majesty herself was not dying as planned. Well, technically she _was_, but it wasn't fast enough. Not with his current mood, at least. Why was his plan never satisfying anymore? After all, his despicable cousin was long gone and safely out of the way and now with his aunt's quickly deterring health, only Roald would stand in his way.

But the weakling 'Peacemaker' was little worry to him either way it was almost disgusting how...attached...to each other the two Royals were. Roger sighed.

Then he felt it. Someone was using raw power very near here. A powerful Gift it was, with much potential. Unrestrained, it was probably wrecking havoc. His spine tingled in anticipation. Finally! Something to distract him.

* * *

He dropped the broken queen to the ground and ground it beneath the heel of his boot. He picked up another piece and smiled. What he needed more of were pawns. 

"Its a pity the Prince died so young."

"Indeed." An exaggerated sigh was heard. "So now His Grace gets to inherit. You think he'll taken any notice of me?"

"Notice of you? Don't be absurd. All he'll have eyes for are Cythera. All anyone has eyes for are Cythera. Hmph."

Alanna suppressed a sigh. She was getting a headache from all that banter. Her traveling companions all seemed to have been touched by now and gossiping their heads off. If it wasn't Sir Golden Eyes it was Sir Golden Curls and even Lord Pimple-face-with-bags-of-gold-and-a-title-to-boot.

No, she wasn't bitter at all.

In fact, Alanna was thinking of all the young knights she would meet as well, if not for the same reasons as the other girls. No, she was just silently cursing the luck that had banished her from _being_ one of those young knights. The Gods must hate her or something.

She slouched back against the hard back of the carriage seat. Why didn't they put cushions on the damn things? They might as wellâ€"it wasn't as if the convent had enforced much discipline or pushed for the simple living during all those years. But life being life, they just _had_ to remember their rules about it last minute and torture them all by forgetting to install cushions on the seats. Life reeked.

A loud sigh escaped her lips, causing a pause in her traveling-mate's whispered conversation. As if suddenly remembering Alanna in their midst, all of them turned towards her.

"Alanna!" one of them exclaimed, suddenly remembering a muchly important fact. "You have a brother there, don't you?"

The others quickly caught on. "Yes, yes, I do remember you writing letters to someone at the palace some time ago."

"How old is he? What's his nameâ€"?"

"Is he handsome? Tall? Or...taken?"

Caught off guard as the center of attention, it was all Alanna could do to give a nervous smile. They weren't bad people, really, but when excited about something, these noble women could be pretty persistent.

But Thom? An image of the scrawny red-haired and violet-eyed boy of childhood flashed through her mind. Hair tussled, the knee of his breeches scuffed with dirt, and a scowl on his face, he seemed almost comical. She let out an unwanted giggle. "You want me to tell you if Thom is handsome? Tall?" But that was what she remembered of him at the age of ten. Maybe he had changed by now...

"No," she shook her head. "I haven't seen him for too long to be a judge of any of that."

"Oh." With that unsatisfactory answer, they left the subject and Alanna, once again to return to their own chatter.

But what _did_ Thom look like now? She was sixteen, and he was obviously the same. _That would make him a squire_, she decided. He was so lucky, to be able to be all that. The nervous feeling she had previously managed to suppress crept back again.

This was, after all, the wake up call. What else did life have in store for her? A twin who was in the position she wanted to be, a small inheritance not near enough to make a glorious dowry, hair and eyes as queer as anything, and a stubborn streak to boot.

Yes, what would become of her now?

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Once again, long time no see, no? Well, I've made so many changes to story and plot that it's not even funny. Not that it was funny to begin with, but that's beside the point. So Jon is dead. Whee! 

Before all you A/J supportors start flaming and you A/G fans start cheering, I'll inform you politely that George does not get to partake in the romance in this fic. Just doesn't work out. I mean, how can Alanna even meet George? Yes, yes, I'm being hypocritical now but its the truth. So no A/G pairings (and no dating the dead guy either).

So...who's left? Guess the pairing correctly and get candy and maybe something else. It should be fairly easy, no? Hope you don't all hate me!

**Lovingly,**  
Reaya

PS. I couldn't find a good poem for this chapter, so shrugs. Just make do with one that has the title.

* * *

**Prossible Excerpt from Chapter 3: Brother Dearest**

"Well, well, if it isn't Trebond. Haven't seen you around in quite a bit. What's this you have here? A friend?"

A scowl immediately crossed Thom's face, clearling showing his displeasure.

A smiling face emerged from around the bend. It's owner's face was drawn in a wide grin and his chestnut eyes were sparkling. His eyes scanned Thom first, taking note of the scowling face. Then he moved on to her and let out a small whistle. "I'm taking a shot at the dark here, Trebond, but a twin?"

If anything, the scowl on her brother's face deepend. "What's it to you, Naxen?"

The older boy chuckled. "Tsk, tsk. Don't be such a grump. If you told us you had a sister, we might have been nicer to you. Catch my drift? Now introduce us." It was clearly a command.

Not for the first time, Alanna wondered exactly how her twin got on around here.


End file.
